


Five Conversations in Alys' Office

by Philomytha



Series: Alys/Simon fics [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Bujold
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Missing Scenes, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alys and Simon grow closer over the years</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Conversations in Alys' Office

**One: Crossing Swords**

Her new office was lovely, like all the rooms in this wing of the Residence, but Alys wasn't entirely settled in it yet, and the presence of the lethally-armed man in the armchair adjacent to hers was not such as to induce calm. Alys had known Captain Illyan casually for several years, had exchanged a few remarks with him, had seen him at work during major and minor crises. She knew that Aral thought very highly of him, and that Cordelia thought he was not too bad, for a Barrayaran, and that most of Vorbarr Sultana society was terrified of him. But she had never before been on the receiving end of his complete and focussed attention.

He glanced over the carefully handwritten flimsy she had given him, far too quickly to read it, and nodded.

"Is this complete?" he asked.

"As complete as possible. Naturally I can't do anything about people who don't attend, but there should be no extra additions to the guest list. Unless you wish to add anyone…?"

"Not at all, that's entirely your department. Now, may I see the seating plan for dinner?"

Alys blinked. "You need that?"

"If you please, my lady."

She rose and crossed to her desk. It was on top of the pile, the fruit of three hours' intensive labour with names on little cut-up bits of paper, arranging and rearranging them until the puzzle worked out. She handed it silently to Captain Illyan for him to inspect.

"I'd rather you didn't seat the Dowager Countess Vortienne so close to Aral," he said after a glance at the flimsy as cursory as his examination of the guest list. "We do not consider her to be dangerous, but she has made her views on Komarran affairs rather prominent lately. I'd prefer if you would move her elsewhere."

He was a polite soldier, Alys granted, but she could hear the certainty of being obeyed behind his respectful phraseology. She bristled.

"I couldn't possibly," she said, and saw his eyes widen in startlement. "Isabelle the only lady of the correct rank whom I can trust to sit beside Lord Auditor Vorparadijs throughout six courses without offending him. She must stay."

"I'm sure there must be someone…" Captain Illyan said, a little dismissively.

"Perhaps you'd care to suggest a name?" Alys responded at once. "You must not break the rules of precedence, of course, nor sit anyone next to their spouse, nor let any conversational wars break out, nor put any of the old goats next to pretty young girls, nor put two bores within a few places of each other…" She paused to take in his expression, now perfectly bland and still. Angering the Chief of ImpSec during this their first real meeting wasn't what she had intended, but neither would she see her work destroyed. She deliberately moderated her tone. "Isabelle won't rant at Aral over dinner. She may be an isolationist, but she does have exquisite manners. Besides, Aral is more than capable of taking care of himself, conversationally."

"I see," said Captain Illyan. She wondered how she could have thought she had had his complete attention at the start of this meeting. She certainly had it now. "I had not entirely understood the complexities of arranging a seating plan, my lady."

Alys settled back in her chair, accepting this almost-apology, and recalled the teapot on the table beside her. "Tea?" she said.

Captain Illyan blinked. "Ah, yes, thank you."

"I have the details for the musicians I'd like to play during the dancing, and the singer who will perform after dinner," Alys said as she poured tea into a cup. "There won't be anyone else involved from outside, we don't need to take on extra caterers for this."

Captain Illyan took the cup. He looked a little uncomfortable. Alys recalled that up until now, he had mostly worked with the captain of the Residence guard and the major-domo, both military men, since Cordelia hadn't had much to do with organising Aral's social calendar. If the seating plans had been based on security considerations rather than conversation, it would explain a lot about some of the more dire dinner parties she had endured. She could certainly do better than that.

She summed up Captain Illyan, then took another risk. "I'm afraid I haven't invited that fellow you have running around claiming to be some Vorbretten connection."

Captain Illyan began to make some _I'm sorry, I don't think I know…_ noises, which she ignored.

"You would do well to get someone to point out to him that town clowns rarely salute mid-ranking ImpSec officials. Even when they're drunk. In fact, _especially_ when they're drunk." She paused thoughtfully. "It would likely be easier to recruit a town clown to spy for you than to teach one of your soldiers how to imitate one."

She saw him flinch. _Ha._ Then, with a gleam of humour in his eyes, he raised his teacup in salute to her. "I will pass your suggestions along."

Alys concluded that she might enjoy working with Captain Illyan.

*

**Two: Arrest**

Alys spotted Illyan marching down the corridor in her direction, and changed course to meet him.

"Ivan--" she began urgently.

He spoke at the same time, in tones of poorly suppressed anger. "Did you know about--"

They both stopped and gestured the other to continue. Alys nodded and went on, "Do you have any more news of Ivan?"

Illyan took a deep breath, forcing his voice to be calm. "Unfortunately not. There have been no further leads after that sighting on Beta." He looked at her directly, hooked out of whatever was bothering him into her private nightmare, and added in a gentler voice, "I'm sorry, my lady. We're doing everything we can."

"I know." She refocused on Illyan, trying to clear her mind. "What is it you wanted?"

Illyan's face went still. "I've just come from Gregor. Or rather, from trying to see Gregor. He refused to admit me."

Alys sighed. "Look, come in a moment." Some things were better not discussed in the corridors of the Residence, not these days.

He followed her back into her office, and Alys shut the door firmly, then led him through to the inner office. Normally she saw callers in the larger outer office with the sofas and artwork, but she felt the need of her personal space around her right now.

Illyan perched on the corner of a chair as if about to spring up again at any second. "Did you know this was coming?" he asked, his anger leaking into his voice again. "You didn't warn me."

"I didn't know he would refuse to see you," Alys said. "Hessman has been at him fairly steadily these past few days, and I have heard him slandering you to Gregor. There wasn't anything I could do, though. Defending you would only have made things seem worse, and would have made Gregor distrust me even more." She had wanted to, though.

Illyan leaned back wearily, shaking his head. "We're losing control of this," he said. "Between them Vordrozda and Hessman, not to mention all their cronies, have Gregor eating out of their hands." He paused. "Have you spoken to Cordelia lately?"

Alys shook her head as she deduced Illyan's train of thought. "She's made it clear that she's not going to intervene until--well, her exact words were, until she has no other choices left."

"And what," Illyan asked in a dead-level voice, "do you think she meant by that?"

Alys' tone was equally level. "She means, until Gregor signs an execution order for Aral or Miles."

Illyan flinched, and they sat in silence for a while. The anger having drained away, Alys noticed that Illyan looked terribly tired.

"If it weren't for this business with Ivan I might have more chance of getting through to Gregor, but as it is he barely tolerates my presence," she said. "He believes the story about the secret message."

"I'm afraid we still don't know for certain whether Ivan's even mixed up in this or if it's some separate problem. Though I'd bet on the former."

_You still don't even know if my son is alive or dead,_ Alys thought bitterly. She could hardly blame Illyan for caring more about Vordrozda's attempt at a coup than the fate of a single cadet, however High Vor he might be. But Illyan's eyes met hers, and he reached out unexpectedly and put his hand on her arm in sympathy.

"I promise you, my lady, we're doing all we can for Ivan."

Alys closed her eyes and surrendered her agony of anxiety for a moment, letting herself trust in Illyan's competence and his steady support. It was surprising how good it felt to have someone to share her worry for her son. She looked up and met Illyan's eye. "Thank you."

They both started at a noise in the outer office. Illyan raised his eyebrows at her, and Alys shook her head.

"I'm not expecting anyone until--" she was saying when the door to her inner office burst open.

Illyan moved faster than she would have imagined possible, leaping up with a weapon half-drawn from his hip, then froze. Two men with nerve disruptors drawn were targeting him. Alys froze too. She wasn't sure if she had screamed or not. Suddenly and horribly she was seventeen years in the past and Padma was being marched out by Vordarian's men to his death before her eyes. She could smell the ionized air from the nerve disruptor beam, hear the sizzle as Padma's skin was seared, the shouts of the soldiers, feel her skirts clinging wet around her and the sharp cramps of labour stopping her breath. She hadn't had so strong a flashback in years.

Another pair of men entered, then a fifth. They wore the uniforms of the military police. Alys tried to steady her pounding heart. She swallowed hard, choking back bile and terror, and raised her chin.

"Didn't your parents teach you how to knock?" she snapped in her grandmother's voice.

Illyan, incredibly, gave a slightly manic grin at this. "It's not part of standard procedure, my lady. Unfortunately."

"Silence!" ordered the fifth man. At his nod, the second pair of policemen grabbed Illyan and jammed him into the wall, knocking over a table as they went. In seconds they had taken all his weapons, including several Alys hadn't realised he was carrying tucked away in his uniform.

The fifth man said, in unemotional, almost metallic tones, "Captain Simon Illyan, by the order of Gregor Vorbarra, I arrest you on the capital charge of conspiracy to commit treason."

The smile melted from Illyan's face. Alys swallowed another scream, this time of frustrated fury, as everything fell into place. No wonder Gregor hadn't wanted to face Illyan if he had just ordered this. Vordrozda had moved his conspiracy along to the next step.

One of the guards powered up a tangle-field.

"I'll come with you quietly," Illyan said. They ignored him, and Alys flinched in sympathy as he was ensnared. His eyes met hers, and Alys tried to fill her expression with the words it was not safe to say. _I won't stop trying to influence Gregor. I'll help Aral and Cordelia. I'll keep fighting._ Then he was marched away. When the door closed behind them, Alys stood up mechanically, picked up the fallen table and straightened the other furniture they had knocked askew. When her office was tidy again she sat down on the chair Illyan had left. It was still warm. Alys put her face in her hands and did not cry.

*

**Three: After the Party**

Simon leaned back in the armchair with a sigh as the door closed for the last time, and Alys knew she was honoured. Not many people were considered safe enough to see Simon at rest. Not that the mask ever completely fell from his face, no matter what happened, but she saw him visibly relax.

"Over for another year," Alys remarked.

"Thank heavens."

They gazed at each other like off-stage actors.

"I'm so tired," Alys said after a minute, "I could fall asleep right here."

A soft smile crossed Simon's face. "Don't mind me," he said. "You've done all the really hard work tonight, and I'm deeply in your debt."

Alys smiled in return and leaned back in her armchair, head on the soft cushion, and contemplated getting up and how undesirable it was. Her feet ached, her head ached, her face ached from the strain of constant smiling and small talk. Images from the long day bounced through her mind: the Birthday Review, hours of speeches, Countess Vortalon ranting about how she would have organised the party if she were in charge, dancing, dining, music, drinking, catty small talk...

"Every year when this is over, I tell myself another year with no assassinations, nothing too important blown up and no wars breaking out is all to the good," remarked Simon.

"We know who to thank for that." Alys' smile intensified as she saw a faint flush cross Simon's face. Then he fought back a yawn, and Alys pushed herself to her feet. Simon instantly rose too.

"Home to sleep," said Alys. "I trust you are doing the same?"

"Dare I do otherwise?"

"I hope not."

Alys permitted Simon to give her his arm, and they began the walk through the Residence to the front gates where two ImpSec drivers were undoubtedly waiting. Alys wondered when she'd started feeling so comfortable around Simon. She knew how deadly and terrifying he could be: she had heard him interrogating suspects more than once, and seen him shoot a man dead during that attempted coup in the fifth year of the Regency. She'd heard all the stories too, the ones she knew were false and the ones she suspected might be true, and some of them would scare anyone. And yet she walked arm-in-arm with him and felt more at ease than she did anywhere else.

They were moving in perfect step, like an old married couple. Alys' thoughts turned to Padma. They'd only been married three years, not long enough to wear into the comfortable familiarity her parents had shared. It would have been twenty-six years, now, but instead here she was with the most confirmed bachelor in Vorbarr Sultana.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Simon said diffidently.

"I was wondering what it would be like to have been married for twenty-six years," Alys said, with honesty forced by her exhaustion.

Simon's expression clouded. "I wouldn't know. Good, I should think."

"You never wanted to marry, though?"

"How could I? You know how many people try to kill me in the average year. I couldn't ask anyone to share that with me."

She felt his body tense as he spoke. "I'm sure they would, if they cared for you," she said.

"Perhaps, but I couldn't do that to anyone I cared for." He stared at the fine carpet under their feet and added, "Also, this job requires me to be perfectly single-minded. I can't be distracted, can't try to cope with leading a work life and a private life. I have two memories; I can't have two lives as well." He shook his head and, typically, turned the conversation back on her. "But you never remarried either."

Alys sighed. "You _are_ tired. Nobody wanted to marry me. All the offers I received were from men who wanted to become the Emperor's uncle, not my husband. After the Pretendership, it would have been much too dangerous to give anyone that power."

Simon made a little noise of understanding, or perhaps it was sympathy. Alys thought of the other reasons she had remained single. Her grief for Padma had been real, but that had long since faded and worn smooth, no obstacle to her forming another attachment. Ivan was grown now, she didn't have to worry about his reactions to a step-father. What remained was the unexpected satisfaction she had found in being an independent and powerful widow, answerable to nobody and freely in command of her household and her life. She wasn't prepared to give that up now.

But then, for some things, she didn't have to. Cordelia had teased her about taking a lover and helpfully suggested some possible candidates. She hadn't named the man whose side now brushed against Alys as they walked, and so Alys hadn't mentioned him either. Simon was a friend, and that was rare and precious enough without complicating matters. Now Alys felt the warmth of his body alongside her and wondered what she would have said if Cordelia had mentioned him. But he'd made his own thoughts clear now, so she ruthlessly smothered the spark of curiosity.

They continued to the entrance in companionable silence, where an alert-eyed guard summoned their vehicles to the porte-cochere. Alys' arrived first, and Simon politely walked her to it, opened the door before her driver could get out, and bowed over her hand.

"Good night, my dear Lady Alys."

"Good night."

In the groundcar, Alys turned her head to look back as she was driven away. Simon was gazing after her car, still smiling. Safely, for he couldn't see her through the polarised canopy, she smiled back.

*

**Four: News**

Simon entered her office a little early for his appointment. Alys looked up from the fabric swatches she was inspecting, and noticed immediately that some of the tension had left his face.

"The transplant operation went well," he said at once, omitting his usual polite greeting. "They expect he will make a full recovery."

Alys had no need to ask who 'he' was. "Thank God. Thank you for bringing the news to me right away." She gestured him to a seat and began to pour him some tea, austerely black and unsweetened. She knew better than to ask if he had any news of Miles, or indeed of Mark. Too many people were asking him that, day and night, and she knew that if he had a better answer he would have said so. Reluctantly she turned her mind to business.

"This is the guest list for tomorrow evening, and I also have details of the entertainment for the Winterfair Ball--we've got three possibilities lined up, but we can't make a final booking without security clearance." She passed some flimsies to Simon and they fell into conversation. In the midst of their discussion, Simon's wrist com chimed.

"Excuse me." He answered the call. Alys could hear the tinny voice addressing him.

"Sir, we've just received a galactic affairs tight-beam report, marked Most Urgent. Do you want me to send it to you now?"

Alys saw Simon tense. "Yes. Lady Alys' Residence office, please. Immediately." His voice was normal, but for the way he held his whole body perfectly still.

"Right away, sir."

Alys did not speak. She raised her teacup and sipped, though it nearly choked her suddenly dry throat. What else could it be, other than news of Miles? Unless war was breaking out somewhere, she supposed.

Her comconsole chimed. Simon went to it, bumping the edge of the table and spilling a few drops of Alys' tea. He entered codes and stared at the screen.

Then he let out his breath in a long, long sigh and buried his face in his hands. Unable to restrain herself, Alys went to him.

"Simon?"

"They're safe," he said in a muffled voice. "Those idiot boys are safe and on their way home," and Alys realised he was crying.

Her own eyes prickled as his words sank in. Abruptly Simon stood up.

"I must go to Cordelia at once. No, I'll call her from here." He looked about him, dazed with relief. Impulsively Alys put her arms around him, and for a moment they embraced. Alys tilted her face to look up at Simon. His eyes, damp with tears, met hers. Alys knew then, with diamond certainty, that if she moved a fraction towards him, gave him the slightest sign, he would kiss her.

But all the old arguments still held. It was impossible. She would not take advantage of Simon, nor confuse this moment of happiness. Instead she pressed her cheek against his shoulder a moment, then slid gracefully out of his grasp.

"Indeed you must," she said, and was pleased that her voice did not waver, "but first…" She took out her lacy handkerchief and handed it to him. "You'd scare Cordelia half to death if she saw you like that, before you had a chance to tell her the news."

Simon wiped his face unashamedly. His unexpected straightforwardness, when he had no security- or political-tinged reason for dissimulation, was one of the things she loved in him.

"Better?" he asked, returning the handkerchief.

"Much."

She ran the handkerchief through her fingers as Simon bent again over the comconsole, and watched as Cordelia's face appeared, in the room adjoining Aral's at ImpMil.

"Alys? What--" Her voice flattened. "Oh. Simon."

Simon spoke quickly. "Miles and Mark are safe and on their way home. I've just received the preliminary report. I'll deliver the details to you when they come through. But the important thing is that they're both safe and aboard the ship home."

Cordelia was silent for a full minute, and Alys glimpsed the tears on her face. Then she smiled openly at Simon, and Alys' heart lifted. She knew Simon and Cordelia had been at odds several times over the past weeks, particularly over Mark. Having two of her dearest friends furious at each other had been unpleasant, and Alys had listened to both sides of the story and said little.

"Thank you," Cordelia said. Then after another pause, she asked, "Would you like to come here and tell Aral yourself?"

Alys noticed the slight straightening of Simon's spine, the way he came somehow more alive at the prospect.

"Ah… if you wish, my lady," he said calmly, but his answering smile betrayed him.

"All right then. Aral's asleep now anyway, but when you get here we'll wake him up for this."

Simon gave Cordelia a little salute, and she cut the com.

At heart, Alys was Old Vor. She had some modern trappings these days, product of her association with Cordelia, but some things were rooted deep. She looked at Simon and saw all the faithful liegemen and devoted bondsmen in all Barrayar's history and literature. She knew Aral was his liegelord, and as Simon made ready to leave her for him, she knew only that she gained honour from his fidelity.

"We'll have to leave this for now," Simon said. "I'll tell my secretary to reschedule it as soon as possible."

"We've been over almost everything, I can send you the rest over the comconsole," Alys answered. "Please give Aral my love when you see him."

"Of course." He bowed over her hand, went to the door and left without another word. It was probably just in her imagination that the room seemed dimmer when he had gone.

*

**Five: The Last Meeting**

"Has it leaked yet, do you know?"

"I haven't heard anything," Alys said cautiously. "At least, not about the betrothal. There's gossip about them everywhere right now, but since Gregor went and danced _four times_ with her in one evening, that's only to be expected." She gave a snort of exasperation. "I do wonder if I've been talking to myself, all these years. It'll leak sometime, of course."

"How long do you think we have?" Simon asked.

"Fortunately none of the people they've told so far are particularly indiscreet. I expect I'll be able to get to Komarr and back before someone lets the cat out of the bag. Assuming Gregor and Laisa manage to restrain themselves a bit better in public."

Simon gave a weak smile. Alys regarded him with a keen eye. He seemed pale, more so than usual, and his eyes were strained.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"Hmm?" He took in her concerned gaze. "Oh. I have a bit of a headache, that's all. Came on suddenly."

Alys' eyes narrowed. More than a bit, by the look of him. She reached into her desk and took a packet of painkillers from a drawer, but Simon shook his head.

"Thank you, but I can't. I'll get something from my physician later, when I get back to HQ."

Alys gave an inward sigh. _ImpSec._ She knew Simon didn't actually suspect her of trying to poison him, he just followed these rules out of habit and to make his life simpler. Though she wondered sometimes whether if he simplified his life much more, he would have any left.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave her a rueful smile. "It's probably the result of thinking about having a Komarran empress and what that will mean for ImpSec. I am glad Gregor's finally settled on someone, but it would have been so much simpler if he'd picked one of the Barrayaran women you offered." His smile faded. "There will be demonstrations, and plots, and counter-plots, and terrorism, and … and I'm so tired of it all." That last, in a whisper. Alys swallowed. Simon's face was naked, his weariness and pain and his trust in her, all clearly visible. He cast his eyes down.

On impulse, Alys stood up, shaking her head as Simon automatically began to rise. She went to stand behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He flinched in automatic reaction. His muscles were drawn tight like wires.

"No wonder you have a headache," she murmured. "No, let me," she added as he made to shrug her away. He sat stiffly a moment longer, then let himself relax as she worked the tense muscles in his shoulders and traced the tendons up the back of his neck to his hairline. Her breath stirred his close-cropped hair. He made a little sound then, like a cat settling in someone's lap, and Alys' heart melted.

"You could stop," she said lowly. She had promised herself never to say this to him, never to ask him to leave his work, but the feel of his skin under her hands destroyed her resolve.

"I meant to," he replied. "After Aral went to Sergyar, I realised it was possible. I had Miles all lined up, nearly ready … and then he threw his career away and my plans with it."

He tensed again as he spoke, and Alys cursed her nephew. She made little circles with her fingers at the edge of his shoulderblades. "You must have other choices. Miles can't be your only possible successor."

"I wanted to pass it to him. See him settled here in Vorbarr Sultana. And Gregor would have liked it." He leaned into her hands. "That helps so much," he whispered. After a silent minute, he said, "There's Lucas, I suppose. He'd do."

"Good," Alys said. Then, daring, she added, "What's stopping you?" She found a knot at the base of his neck, and he let out his breath in a long hiss as she smoothed it out.

"Nothing," he said at last, in a voice almost of wonder. "Nothing. I'll see Gregor through this wedding, and then Lucas can have the hot seat."

Alys ran through her mental timetable of Gregor's wedding in her head, suddenly much more sympathetic to Gregor's haste. She couldn't bring it under half a year, though. Well, she could wait half a year. Her circling fingers on Simon's shoulders changed subtly into a caress, and Simon went very still.

"By midsummer, then," she said aloud, to cover her sudden hesitation.

She drew her hands away and sat down on the sofa next to Simon then, and saw his eyes on her wide and hungry. He took her hands and raised them to his lips.

"Thank you," he said, and kissed the tips of her fingers.

Alys realised she was holding her breath. Her fingers tingled. But then Simon released her hands and looked away, and the energy flowing between them fizzled out.

"I have a fast courier ready to take you tomorrow," he said, breaking the charged silence. "The _Pride of Vorbarr Sultana_, one of the new line. It's a little more spacious than the old ones."

Alys took a deep breath and allowed herself to be drawn back to her work. She had only complained once about the discomforts of fast couriers, but Simon hadn't forgotten, of course. Or rather, he had paid attention. The chip meant that he had too much information in his head to process it all, and he had told her that in the end it was all a problem of sorting. That he paid attention to what she said, even the trivialities, was one of the finest and subtlest compliments she'd ever received.

"That will be nice."

"I hope you will be able to persuade Laisa's parents that this is a good thing," he said.

"I will try my best," Alys said. "Though if they're intelligent--and they seem likely to be from the dossiers you gave me--they'll realise exactly how difficult a position Laisa's going to be in." She paused. "I think I will ask Cordelia to come and visit them too. If anyone can help them accept it, she will."

"Oh, that's a good idea." Simon paused, his expression turning inward as he accessed his chip. "And have you heard of any leaks about Gregor's engagement?" he asked.

Alys blinked at Simon. "No," she said again. "Not yet."

He rubbed his forehead. "Good."

It was probably just the headache that had made him repeat himself. Or tiredness. Or distraction. It would only embarrass him to mention it.

Simon stood up with a weary grunt she barely heard. "I wish I could stay, but I'm bound to go listen to the captain of the palace guard's latest round of complaints. I hope you have a good trip to Komarr." He moved towards the door. Alys went with him, and they stood facing each other for a moment.

"I'll start making arrangements at ImpSec for my successor," he said quietly.

"I look forward to it."

Their eyes met and held. Simon took her hand briefly. "To Midsummer," he said.

"Midsummer," Alys echoed. She let her fingers close around his for a moment. His hand was cool, lean and strong, and it took all Alys' willpower to make herself release him. "I'll see you when I get back."

*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Day for Tears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/236602) by [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha)




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